


Savage 2

by eternalsojourn



Series: Savage [2]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Barebacking, Blow Jobs, M/M, Multi, Rimming, Threesome - M/M/M, arthur/eames/projection!eames
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-27
Updated: 2011-04-27
Packaged: 2017-10-21 08:01:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/222863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eternalsojourn/pseuds/eternalsojourn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eames likes to burn off stress after a rough day by fighting a projection of himself. He shows Arthur and naturally, it turns into a threesome.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Savage 2

**Author's Note:**

> Beta: night_reveals , who pushed hard on some of this, to the story's benefit. Thank you, darlin', you've the patience of a saint

They don’t get to have their talk the next day, due to the client being a contrary and unhelpful bastard and the job shaping up to be a bit of a clusterfuck. It’s nothing they can’t salvage, but Arthur’s going to have to go back to the drawing board with the client in the morning, and Eames has to abandon all his work on the three forgeries he’s been perfecting for weeks.

Everyone else has left to regroup with the agreement to refocus in the morning. Eames stays behind and this time Arthur does too.

“What do you do down there,” Arthur asks as Eames prepares the PASIV. This is not the first time Eames has done this after a hard day, but it is the first time Arthur feels he’s in a position to ask.

Eames just looks at him for a moment. Then he smirks and says, “Would you like to come and see?”

Arthur has a twinge of apprehension. He doesn’t like going into anything blind, but this is Eames. Arthur makes up his mind and rolls up his sleeve.

\----

Whatever Arthur expected, it wasn’t this.

They are in a fairly non-descript and empty room, something like a racquetball court but a little larger. And there are two Eameses. One is in black track pants and a black tank, standing placidly with an air of someone waiting to be called upon. The other is in black shorts and a grey ribbed fitted tank, eyebrow cocked and smirking. Arthur folds his arms across his chest and glances back and forth between the two of them, leaving the question hanging in the air.

“A little stress relief, darling,” says the real Eames in the grey tank and shorts. “I like to burn off a little aggression, and a punching bag doesn’t provide much of a challenge.” 

Arthur laughs and it loosens a tiny bit of the tension in his shoulders. “So what, you beat yourself up? That’s a little blatantly psychological even for our line of work, isn’t it?”

“I prefer to save the analysis for the job. Besides, I’m not beating him up; we’re boxing. I’d have thought you’d appreciate the difference, being such a fan of precision.”

Arthur snorts out a laugh, “And that’s so much better.”

“Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it,” Eames replies as he lifts his chin towards Projection Eames and they square up. They both lift their taped hands into position, and fall into stance.

They circle each other for a moment and Arthur thinks this might be the oddest thing he’s seen, and he’s seen some seriously weird shit. The first jab thrown is by the real Eames, and the projection slips it easily. Arthur gets a weird little thrill; an even match in any sport is always exciting.

After a moment or two, the playful look on Eames’s face drops away, and Arthur recognizes this expression, this intensity. At first Arthur thinks that neither will be able to land a punch; every jab, every hook is slipped, ducked and countered with almost choreographed precision. Arthur’s just beginning to wonder why Eames would bother when projection Eames ducks, steps around and comes in with a heavy right uppercut to the real Eames’s ribs. Eames grunts loudly.

The punch galvanizes him, and Eames changes his rhythm in an instant, coming at projection Eames with a four-punch combination that has the projection closing in on himself in defense. But as soon as it’s over he’s right back to stance and throwing a combination of his own that Eames barely has time to dodge. The third punch glances past his ear, a near miss.

After that flurry of activity they both fall into cautious circling, trading and countering jabs which would break noses if they landed.

The fight continues like that, brief bursts of furious grunts, thuds and parries interspersed with light footwork. It’s after about five minutes of this that Arthur realizes they’re not going to take rests; Eames will do this until one of them falls. Arthur is awed by the endurance this requires.

Sweat streaks Eames’s tank top in dark swathes, their hair beginning to drip at their necks. Their skin is slick and droplets fly with every hit. They begin to lose some of their accuracy but have gained a viciousness borne of anger and frustration. Their grunts echo off the walls, their breath forced out in harsh ragged gusts.

Arthur is fascinated. The more they box, the more the game of it is scraped away, their primal survival instincts uncovered. It is raw and feral, even more so when Arthur tries to wrap his brain around Eames battling his own subconscious. It has a brutal sort of symmetry, and Arthur is captivated.

The projection flags, his counterpunches less consistent, while Eames gains a second wind, bolstered by confidence and the thrill of impending victory. He batters projection Eames with a series of combinations and the projection hunches in, covers himself against the storm of punches. But a straight right hand catches him squarely at precisely the wrong moment and he stumbles backwards, falling to the floor with a thud. Real Eames pounces, pinning him down and rains down hits to his body, his face, his arms.

Arthur rushes forward, his instincts kicking in when he sees the man with Eames’s face being pummeled past the point of defeat. Arthur drops to his knees beside them and pushes at one of Eames’s shoulders shouting, “Enough”.

Eames looks up at him, his eyes confused, angry and intense. Arthur can see that he’s about to get punched himself, and things hang in the balance for a moment until Arthur parts his lips and inclines his head very slightly. His eyes lock on Eames’s, pulling all of Eames’s focus to him, then licks his lips, slowly, deliberately. Eames responds by claiming a kiss that’s deep and delving. Arthur’s hand drifts over Eames’s chest, then he startles when he feels projection Eames’s hand slide up his thigh.

Arthur breaks the kiss and looks down at where projection Eames is lying on the floor, his face bloodied and swollen, his eyes burning with want.

And okay, this is a little fucked up. But that’s Eames lying there -- a version of him anyway -- and Arthur would be lying if he said that two of Eames wasn’t appealing. So if the real Eames wasn’t opposed...

He doesn’t appear to be. He has one hand on Arthur’s neck, stroking a thumb up his jaw and looking like a predator waiting for the opportunity to pounce. So Arthur guides projection Eames’s hand to his clothed erection, pressing it in before releasing him to continue stroking. He goes back to kissing Eames then, and lets his hands roam where they will over Eames’s sweaty flesh. His fingers run lightly over the soaked fabric, play around the hems, slide underneath very slightly before coming out again to continue exploring.

Eames bites at Arthur’s lip and it surprises out a small yelp that turns into a moan. Arthur lets his hands wander down and traces light fingers of one hand over Eames’s cock, while his other hand blindly gropes for projection Eames’s erection. 

The position isn’t ideal for anyone, so Eames stands to straddle projection Eames, Arthur’s fingers tucked into the waistband of his shorts. The projection kneels beside Arthur and together they lift the elastic waistband of Eames’s shorts and boxers over the head of his cock, down and off. It’s a lewd picture, Eames in trainers and his grey tank, his cock jutting out, chest heaving and staring down at the two of them.

Eames lets out a sound that is half moan half laugh. “Arthur,” he says, stroking his cheek, “now this is a first. Would this be considered masturbation, do you suppose?” and Arthur laughs while projection Eames just flashes a dirty, mischievous smile.

Arthur wraps his hand around Eames’s shaft and suckles on the head. Projection Eames runs his hand over Arthur’s back and watches, lids heavy. He leans forward and licks at where Arthur’s tongue and Eames’s cockhead meet and it becomes a kind of kiss, focused equally on both tongues and cock. 

Eames moans and pushes his hips forward, cock sliding in towards Arthur’s mouth and Arthur sucks him down. Projection Eames places open mouthed kisses down Eames’s shaft, then down to his sac, sucking one in and rolling it around his mouth.

“Oh God,” Eames says as he rolls his head to the side to get a different view. “Arthur, you’ll be the death of me.”

Projection Eames moves back up to join Arthur, both of their tongues licking all over Eames’s girth and brushing against each other until projection Eames makes the slight move to claim Arthur’s mouth in a full kiss. He has one meaty hand on Arthur’s neck and Arthur is just enjoying the wet completeness of it when the kiss is interrupted. Eames has his hand fisted in the projection’s  hair and is guiding him back to his cock while his other hand urges Arthur to his feet. Arthur quirks up an amused eyebrow but says nothing.

Arthur stands, removes his clothes and kicks them all away. Eames pulls him close until projection Eames can access them both, and when he can he begins to lick and suck at both of them, trying his hardest to pull them into his mouth at once.

The feeling of that soft wet tongue on his dick contrasting with the hard press of Eames’s erection is intoxicating. And Eames’s kiss is wet and demanding until Arthur takes the hint and offers up his tongue to be sucked. Eames’s hand on the back of his neck is firm and possessive, and Arthur thinks if he wanted to pull away, he’d have to strain to do it. Fortunately he doesn’t want to.

When Eames begins to ease his hips back, the projection turns his focus to Arthur, jacking him, licking him, sucking him and dripping everywhere noisily. Arthur wonders briefly if the real Eames sucks the same way, but quickly stops thinking and gets lost in the sensation and the look of those lips an obscene circle around his dick. Eames moves behind Arthur then, slipping his hands around his waist and letting one hand drift down to touch where his projection is wrapped around Arthur’s cock. He nuzzles in behind Arthur’s ear, and Arthur can’t help but tilt his head to provide access, breathing out Eames’s name. For a moment he winces inwardly, wishing he didn’t melt so easily, but the growl it earns him from Eames quickly banishes any regrets.

Arthur feels the projection’s hand drift around behind him, using the spit to slide one easy finger inside him. Eames pulls back to look down, and he rumbles a hum of appreciation and says, “hold him open for me.” Arthur feels those hands drift down his body as Eames drops to his knees, and Arthur shivers in anticipation of what’s coming, imagining two pairs of those incredible lips on him.

The projection’s fingers dig in, and Eames behind him wastes no time licking in. His tongue is hot and fluttering, teasing the sensitive skin of his hole. Arthur feels hands wander all over Arthur’s body, one reaching between Arthur’s legs to touch the projection’s bottom lip, then lightly massaging his  fingers over Arthur’s sac, caresses his perineum. Another hand traces the muscles of Arthur’s legs, and between the mouth on his cock and the tongue in his ass, Arthur really shouldn’t notice such a thing but he does. Because Eames, impossibly, makes that touch feel as focused as anything else he does.

Arthur reaches his hands down to thread his fingers through the hair on both their heads and spreads his stance a little wider for them. His previous experience with Eames was so frantic and rushed he never did get a chance to feel what that mouth could do, but this is typical of Eames, isn’t it? Nothing done halfway, all dazzling improvisation and intoxicating uncertainties. And somewhere in the heady, overwhelming mix of sensations electrifying his nerve endings, Arthur has the urge to follow this, all of it, wherever it goes, and the thought terrifies him as much as it excites him.

But all thought is burned out of his mind when Eames slides two fingers all the way into his now-oversensitized hole and then licks around them. It spikes his arousal and his orgasm rumbles to its boiling point. In seconds he’s shooting into the projection’s mouth and tightening his grip on their heads in an effort to stay upright. The projection pulls off only enough to continue jacking before latching on again, milking him of every drop.

Projection Eames drags Arthur down on all fours, positioning himself behind with Eames. Arthur peeks over his shoulder to see the projection leaning forward to drip the large wad of come and spit onto Arthur’s hole; it’s warm and feels impossibly messy, a sensation that would give Arthur pause topside, but not here. Not when the real Eames is stroking his side possessively and nodding in approval at his projection, flicking his eyes back to Arthur’s face with an expression Arthur can’t decipher but makes him flush just the same.

The projection moves to kneel in front of Arthur, his hand inside his sweatpants and stroking himself. Behind him Eames is smearing the mess around Arthur’s ass, pushing it up inside, but Eames’s touch is gentle, considerate, a contrast to the savage man Arthur witnessed a short time ago. Arthur begins to pull down the projection’s pants but his mind is stuck on those fingers dipping inside him and he says, “I’m ready Eames. Just fuck me.”

Eames slips another finger inside and leans forward to place wet kisses on Arthur’s back, his other hand kneading his hip.

“Eames, please,” Arthur says, breathless, his desire to be full of Eames overriding any hope of dignity by this point.

“Arthur,” Eames rumbles, the final syllable trailing out as if Eames is just savouring the shape of Arthur’s name in his mouth. He lines up his cock and slides home in one smooth movement, hands on Arthur’s hips pulling him in to sink deeper. Arthur groans and sucks the projection’s cock down, grabbing his hands and placing them on his head just to feel as much of Eames as possible all around him.

Eames reaches underneath to cradle Arthur’s now-stiffening dick in his palm and begins to thrust his own hips, pulling out almost completely before pushing back in. He moans, low and guttural and all four hands caress everywhere they’re touching him. The projection pumps gently into his mouth, groaning quietly while Eames curls over him, his breath hot on Arthur’s back.

“You like that, love? My cock in you everywhere?” If he was aiming for dirty, he falls short of the mark; he sounds awestruck. “Christ, Arthur, look at you. You’ve spoiled me now; I never want anything between my cock and your skin.”

Arthur’s mind reels and he’s almost grateful for the projection’s dick in his mouth because he has no idea how to respond. He agrees but doesn’t know what that implies and...

His vision sparks when Eames adjusts his hips and he’s now driving into Arthur’s sweet spot. Arthur’s cock swells back to full hardness in response in Eames’s hand. He moans around the projection’s dick, the vibration of it drawing a louder groan from him. And just like that, all three are frantic: Arthur sucking hard, relishing the full heavy hardness on his tongue, Eames fucking into him, arms wrapped right around and his sodden tank rubbing against Arthur’s skin, and the projection running greedy hands over every bit of Arthur’s skin that he can reach.

Arthur feels the projection’s rumbling orgasm seconds before he pulls out jacks hard, thick strings of pearly white come landing in his mouth, streaking his cheek, dripping down his lips and Arthur strains forward against Eames’s grip around his waist to lick at the projection’s spurting cockhead. He suckles again despite the hiss of discomfort, unwilling to give up the feeling of having Eames everywhere. But the projection places a firm hand on Arthur’s shoulder and pulls himself back, resting his other hand on Arthur’s head, brushing his thumb across his forehead.

Arthur cranes to look over his shoulder and Eames looks up from where he’s breathing into Arthur’s skin, and his face breaks when he sees Arthur streaked with come. Eames’s mouth drops open and his orgasm wracks him but he doesn’t take his eyes off Arthur. The hot spill inside him, the second in as many days, feels like a brand and Arthur is hooked now.

Eames withdraws his cock, uses it to smear his come around Arthur’s hole before sliding  it back inside, easy now that Arthur is fucked open and dripping. He carries on fucking in even though he must be oversensitized by now, and strokes Arthur’s cock a with firm hand. 

It’s a slower build this time, but with the comforting weight of Eames’s cock in his ass, Arthur tenses and comes again, spilling  onto Eames’s hand and landing with soft splats onto the floor, the projection still touching and stroking and watching Arthur come apart in front of him.

When Eames finally slips out  he pulls Arthur to him on his knees, kissing him deeply and licking his lips clean of come. He uses his thumb to swipe the remaining mess from Arthur’s cheek and simply looks at him for a moment. His gaze is soft and fond, but there’s hesitancy there.

“Hey,” Arthur says quietly, and traces his fingers along the curve of Eames’s lower lip. Eames nips at them and smiles, then presses his lips to Arthur’s once more, finishing with a shallow swipe of his tongue across Arthur’s.

He sits down on the floor, and Arthur settles beside him, resting his forearms on his propped up knees. Eames’s whole body slumps, fatigue obviously catching up with him in a rush. Projection Eames sits down with a thud beside Arthur, and for the first time Arthur feels a little awkward.

With a cautious glance to the projection, Arthur turns his head to Eames and says, “how much longer do we have down here?”

“Five or ten more minutes, I’d imagine. Thank god we didn’t get kicked out in the middle of all that,” Eames chuckles. “Not that it would have been tragic. I’d have just finished off with you topside.”

The projection, thankfully, has fallen back into his placid demeanor, still watching their exchange but without much interest. Arthur chews his lip, and Eames stops laughing, raises a curious eyebrow.

“Eames I know you were -- I mean, I won’t hold you to anything you said down here. Obviously,” he picks at his nails and Eames sees, so Arthur stops, balls his hands into loose fists.

Eames hums, a squint flashing then disappearing from his face. “Arthur, I’ve never told anyone what I do down here.”

Arthur never quite knows what to respond to with Eames; everything he says seems to come somewhere three thoughts sideways from where anyone else left off. And he’s not stupid, he gets that Eames is saying something important with this, something about trust, but neither is he willing to give up his own line of conversation.

“What does that have to do with what you said earlier?” he settles on. At the very least he’ll press Eames to at least try to meet him halfway.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Arthur,” Eames replies, but it lacks rancor. 

“I don’t like to share,” Arthur says, deciding to lay this out now before things get too complicated. Or maybe it’s too late. “Well, this was different, obviously,” and they both chuckle wryly before Arthur continues. “But if we’re doing this, you should know I don’t like to share. Never have.”

Eames smiles then and glances at Arthur briefly then back down at his hands. “Do you think I’d have suggested skipping the condoms entirely if I expected you to have to?”

Arthur lifts his hand to touch, “Eam---”

\----

They blink awake, the last rays of the day’s sun still streaming through the window, glinting of the dust particles in the air.

Arthur withdraws his needle and begins to pack up, laying a brief touch on Eames’s sleeve as he does.

“How about dinner,” Arthur asks. Somehow being topside back in his own skin centres him again, although his limbs still feel loose and the phantom scent of sex lingers in his nose.

Eames is tidying away the rest of his papers, tucking them into folders. “Yeah,” he says. “It’s crazy but exercising down there makes me ravenous up here. I could murder a curry.”

“Hm. Tired, huh?” Arthur says with a smirk. “I kind of wanted to see if anything other than fighting could turn you on.”

Eames laughs, surprised. “Well there’s no harm in trying, is there?”

They’re at the door when Eames places his hand at the small of Arthur’s back, leans in close and says, voice low, “You should know. I won’t share either.” And it sounds more like a promise than a declaration.

“I’ll hold you that,” Arthur says, and Eames nips at his ear.

\--End--


End file.
